


four seasons in one day

by verynearlysouffled



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, but also they can be sweet when they don't mean to be, no one knows how to rile each other up like these two do, the doctor is a little shit, the master is also a little shit, there's only one bed.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 17:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verynearlysouffled/pseuds/verynearlysouffled
Summary: The Doctor and the Master are trapped in 1956 together, trying to build their own vortex manipulator to get them back to their TARDISes. It's slow going, to say the least.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	four seasons in one day

**Author's Note:**

> based on a prompt sent to me on tumblr: “You’ve been up for days now, please rest.” also please forgive me for the gratuitous use of fake science/technology words, i tried my best lol.

The clatter of the small blowtorch falling to the floor and rolling over the old wooden floorboards drew the Doctor’s eyes away from her own careful task to see the Master with his elbows on the table, hands over his eyes, fingers tangling in the long bits of hair that rested over his forehead.

She wasn’t an idiot. The shadows under his eyes had been darkening since they’d arrived, and she hadn’t once seen him take a rest in the two weeks they’d spent trapped here together. While she had to admit that 1956 London hadn’t been a kind place to either of them, and neither had a particularly strong habit of looking after themselves, he seemed to take it worse than herself.

The Doctor stood up, putting down her own tools to pick up the blowtorch. He had made a move at the same time he noticed her moving, but she had the slightest head start and beat him to it, holding it behind her back despite the hand he held out to receive it.

“Give it,” he said shortly.

She raised an eyebrow, backing up and out of his reach as he made a second grab, a grin growing on her lips.

“Doctor,” he said through a heavy sigh, hand running through his hair.

“I really think you should go to bed,” she said, head gesturing to the sole bed in the little apartment. “You look horrible and you’re losing your touch.”

“I haven’t lost anything, except my patience with you. Give it.”

The Doctor continued to back away from him, voice light as she pointed out, “It’s taken you three hours to figure out how to weld the Chronoplasm filter to the time rotor without overheating the processors. I mean, come on, that’s a twenty minute job at best.” When the Master had no explanation for this, she sighed, sincerity taking over her voice, “You’ve been up for days now, please rest.”

“Am I not old enough to select my own bedtime yet?” the Master said with barely concealed annoyance, his eyes shutting as he pressed two fingers against either side of his nose in frustration, rubbing away the headache she imagined he’d been ignoring all this time. A second later, he was moving again. His eyes were glaring at her, his hands both by his side somewhere between a shrug and accusation, with his hands slipping open like claws, the index finger of his right hand loose and shaking at her. “Must my elders still control me, even at my age?”

She ignored the low blow, and said, “We’ll never get back to the TARDIS if you regenerate out of exhaustion. Leave it be, it’ll still be there tomorrow.”

“I’ve spent long enough in this time period for several lifetimes, I just want to get back to my TARDIS.” His words were slow and short, every word sounding like an effort. “Besides, I haven’t seen you sleep yet.”

“I took that two minute power nap on Thursday,” she corrected him.

The Master snorted, and went as if to sit down at the table again. The Doctor accordingly relaxed, just a little bit, lowering her arms by her side again. The Master without warning ran back at her though, giving her little time to react, and with the sofa directly behind her, nowhere to run. He was quick, hands reaching for her wrist to try and wrestle her arms forward and to hold her still as he pulled at the blowtorch tightly encased in her right hand.

The Doctor wriggled out of his grasp, jumping onto the sofa and holding it above her head. The Master didn’t hesitate in following her up, his elbow meeting her stomach and with that distraction, he reached for her arms and pulled the blowtorch straight out of her hands.

He was off the couch and back to the table without delay.

“Oi! Not fair!” she said, arms crossing as she stepped off the couch to slump down on it.

“Not my fault you’re the short one this time,” the Master said snidely, the torch lit again and his work continued.

“You need to sleep one day!”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Just as soon as I finish this vortex manipulator and I am back in my own TARDIS.”

“Since I’ve yet to find something to actually engage the time vortex yet, that might be awhile,” she reminded him.

He seemed to be ignoring her, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth as he concentrated on his task. Just a moment later though, the whole thing set alight and he groaned, flinging the blowtorch away purposefully this time. The Doctor was already up and throwing her coat over the Chronoplasm filter to snuff the flames.

“Leave it, Doctor,” he said, the chair scraping loudly against the floorboards as he got to his feet. “Fine, you get your wish. I’m going to bed.”

“Good,” she said, voice light even as she watched him slump across the room.

She could hear the mattress creak beneath him as he flopped onto it, and she set back into her own job.

Since getting trapped in 1956, they’d had the one very obvious goal of finding their way back to the future. With no TARDISes, no sonic screwdriver, nothing alien whatsoever beside their own minds, it had been an uphill battle.

Finding spare parts was easier said than done. She’d spend her days combing through junkyards, picking out anything that had the potential to be of use. The Master on the other hand, she wasn’t so certain. He’d bring back wires and coils and transformers and circuit boards, but much like the money he’d pulled out on their first night in London to pay for the small flat and food, she was sure it wasn’t legitimate.

Still, in this circumstance it was probably for the best. It wasn’t like either of them was going to get a job to fund their vortex manipulator project. Besides, if all went as planned, they’d be back to their TARDISes within the week. Or the month, maximum.

“Would you shut up?”

The Doctor paused in her work. She had been trying to solve the issue within the spatial locator, and had pulled open the part to re-sync the circuits. She supposed she might have been a bit careless in her movements, clattering tools and a fair amount of babbling under her breath as she spoke aloud the problem at hand.

“Sorry,” she said, not sure she even was.

He huffed, and she heard the rustle of blankets as he turned in the bed.

Okay. So she had to be quieter. She could do that. Be quiet.

She picked back up the spatial locator, and carefully used the tweezers to begin lifting a wire-

_Twing_.

She’d lost her grip, and the tweezers had flung straight into the window behind her. Her nose scrunched up as she heard another loud huff from the bed.

Quiet. She had to be quiet.

Maybe she could do something else that wouldn’t get her yelled at? The Master hadn’t been able to finish his work, so maybe she’d give it a go herself. The Doctor made her way to the table where he’d abandoned the Chronoplasm filter. She’d just lifted up the blowtorch (taking a moment to appreciate the glow of the flame) when there was an even louder groan from the bed. “Doctor!”

“What? I’m being quiet,” she said in an exaggerated whisper.

“You’ve never been quiet a day in your life. Just get over here and go to sleep so that I can go to sleep.”

The Doctor rolled her eyes. “I’m not tired.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” he sighed. “Just get over here, I won’t kill you in your sleep. Promise.”

There was a drag to her eyelids, a slowness to her bones, if she thought about it. Maybe she could take a quick nap. Refresh the brain, give her problem with the spatial locator some time to settle, finally get the Master to leave her alone. She stood up, turning off the blowtorch.

“Yeah, better not,” she said. “You’d be stuck here forever without me.”

She settled on the free side of the bed, sliding under the thin blanket as the old mattress creaked underneath her. She’d slept in worse places. She’d slept beside worse people, if that could even be possible.

The Master was laid on his back beside her, and she copied him, wriggling for a moment until finally she rested, arms slumping above the covers. She turned her head to look at him, but he was already staring at her.

“Give me some credit,” the Master said, voice softer now. “I’m more than capable.”

“Eventually,” she agreed. “That’s if you don’t accidentally kill yourself first.”

“The blowtorch thing was an accident,” he said, head turning to look back to the ceiling.

The Doctor hesitated, before turning to look away herself. He was so warm beside her, already heating up under the covers. She wriggled her toes, considering the ice that spread within her from them, before pressing them straight against the Master’s legs.

The effect was instantaneous.

“Fuck off!” He had pulled away from her, legs flinging out of the covers with the effort. He was staring at her with wide and angry eyes.

The Doctor snorted. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“Keep your cold feet to yourself,” he said, turning away again.

“I ran out of socks,” she said, grinning at him. When he didn’t respond, she poked him. “Now’s the time when you offer to share some of your socks, else I’m just gonna do it again.”

The Master rolled on his side, facing away from her. The blankets pulled in turn, and the Doctor’s brow furrowed as she found herself suddenly out of the covers.

She grabbed the corner of the blanket, hands tight and pulled. The Master must have anticipated this and gripped it straight back.

“Oi!“ the Doctor said, losing another few precious inches of blanket.

There was no response.

She knew he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was low and even, but his heartbeats beside her were far too loud to be anything else.

Well, when all else fails.

She shuffled along in the bed, until finally her front was almost against his back. She was careful not to freeze him out with her feet this time, but she did move in close until she had his warmth on one side, and the blanket wrapped tightly around her on the other.

The moment she’d moved closer, he’d frozen up. He was so still now, she did almost think he might finally have gone to sleep. Then there was a loud exhale of air.

The Doctor wasn’t an idiot. She was cold, but not an idiot.

“Don’t reckon we’ve shared a bed like this since we were kids,” she said. “Just a regular old sleepover.”

There was a moment of silence before finally he spoke. “You’re a horrible bed partner.”

“Like you can talk. You always used to sleep kick,” she said.

“At least I don’t snore.”

“I don’t snore!” she said disgruntled. There was a creak to the bed, a slight vibrating in his back where she could feel it with the nil distance between them.

He was laughing at her.

She found herself laughing back. “Still, always nice to have someone to chat to at the end of the day.”

“Even if it’s me?” he said.

It was her turn to hesitate now. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “I reckon.”

The Master finally rolled over, spinning until he was staring at her, face to face. His eyes didn’t meet hers however, instead focusing on the pillow she rested her head on. “Are you ever going to actually go to sleep?” he asked, eyes flitting to her's for a second.

The Doctor shrugged (as best as one could shrug when lying on their side). Accordingly, the Master seemed to fight a smile, and she almost felt giddy at the sight.

“Shut up and go to sleep, Doctor.”

* * *

The Doctor woke up to a tickling sensation at her nose. She blinked blearily, the uncovered window allowing the room to fill with cold, blue light, the frost on the glass visible from here. It was him. He’d moved in his sleep, his head resting on her pillow now, his head tucked into her neck, which she realised now was what had created that tickling sensation. His hair had been against her face. She could feel his soft, warm breaths against her skin.

She froze up on instinct, hearts beating faster as she was suddenly overwhelmed at all the contact. _It’s just the Master,_ she reminded herself. _Just him with his arm resting over your body, fingers against your back. Just his legs that are entangled with your own, your feet finally warm where they are pressed against his._

The Doctor still didn’t move. Too afraid to… What? To wake him up? To feel the rejection as he pulled away in disgust and hatred? To lose that warmth and comfort that had kept her asleep until morning, something she’d not achieved on her own in years?

So she didn’t move. If anything, she nuzzled a little closer, her eyes clenched tight as she gave herself this time. If she kept her eyes closed, then nothing had changed. If she kept her eyes closed, she could feel his warmth and smell that familiar scent of _him,_ and for another minute, she’d be at peace.

The heartbreak of losing this again could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 im on tumblr @dontwanderoff


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